


Watercliff

by PropShopHannah



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Elriel, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut, angsty Elriel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-11-04 02:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10981416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PropShopHannah/pseuds/PropShopHannah
Summary: After the war, Elain and Azriel must both deal with their pasts in order to move forward and explore what's between them.





	1. Chapter 1

“How did you find me?”

Azriel stepped out of the shadows. He was silent for a moment as he watched. Elain stood thigh-deep in water on the edge of a lake that was tucked between the forest and hills on the outskirts of Velaris. It wasn’t the first time he’d found her in this spot.

“It’s almost dark. We should head back.”

“Back where?” She didn’t move. Just stood with her back to him staring down at the glassy black water in front of her. The air was cold, icy.

He took a silent step forward. “Wherever you want.”

“You’re not a liar, Azriel.”

He moved to stand at the water’s edge. “It wasn’t a lie.” 

Her head whipped to him. He could tell she’d been crying. She’d been doing that a lot lately. It’d been a year since the war, but…

“Home. I want to go home.”

Azriel calculated the distance from where Elain stood on the hidden shelf that rimmed the lake, creating it’s shallows, to the deep and sudden drop off that gave the lake it’s name—Watercliff. No one knew how deep the lake went, and Elain was mere steps from the hidden drop. He wasn’t sure she knew how to swim.

He stepped into the icy water, sinking into the silt. “Then I will take you there.” His voice was firm, unwavering.

She stared at his extended hand, his proximity. “ _ There? _ There doesn’t exist anymore.” She turned to him fully then, fisting her hands into the water sodden dress. It barely fit her too-thin frame. “Do you know what this is?” she whispered. Her skin was pale with cold, lips a bloodless shade of purple.

He nodded.

“It’s my wedding dress. Or it would have been. It was supposed to be.” A few tears slipped down her face. “It’s not  _ my  _ wedding dress, but it’s the same style, same make, same size.” She looked at him. “Do you want to know the difference?” 

She looked so small, so cold—and sad. Azriel thought she looked sad. 

He took another careful step toward her, dipping his chin once in answer.

“The color. Mine was pink”—her voice broke—”with silver and blue embellishments to match Graysen’s coat of arms. This one is w-white. The color of mourning.” She took a step back, toward the hidden cliff.

She dropped the skirts of the dress, heavy with water. The weight pulled the loose fabric off her shoulders. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she didn’t care. “It’s fitting you know?” Her voice was small, broken. “That I should find the same dress in white. I’ve no husband, no father to give me away—” Her head dropped, and her shoulders began to shake as she cried. “I’ve no home.”

Azriel took another step, water splashing and said, “You have a home.”

“ _ NO I DON’T. _ _ ”  _ Her tears came freely then. “He died, I saw him die.” She jabbed a finger into the side of her head. “In here, I saw it— _ I see it _ . All the time. Over and over and over. Never stops, won’t stop— _ Papa _ .” She shook her head as if to clear the images. “And Graysen, I-I see Graysen. How long he might live, how he might end, and I’m not there.  _ I should be there _ . That was mine. That ending was mine.” 

Her voice grew quiet, body subdued, as her eyes began to fog over. She looked at nothing. “It’s gone now. I’m gone now, don’t belong. Died. I died… water, there was so much water... and a voice. ‘Stay with the shadows’ it said. And then I died.” Her arms slackened at her sides, head slightly tilted. “The first death I ever saw was my own. Peaceful, it looked peaceful. I was peace—” Her hand hit the water.

And something he could not see snagged in her mind. She began to murmur and shake, eyes darting left and right. Not with a vision, he realized, but with a memory. 

Azriel moved, sloshing through the icy water just as Elain started screaming. She was scared, not of him, but of whom her mind had replaced him with. 

And then she screamed for Nesta. And he knew what memory she’d become locked in. What memory the sound of his boots through water had helped triggered.

Elain jerked back as he approached, stepping backward off the hidden cliff’s edge—and sunk like a stone from the weight of the water-heavy dress.


	2. Chapter 2

Azriel didn’t think, just dove into the freezing waters.

He saw her. Ten feet below him—eyes wide and sinking fast. The world was nothing around him. An icy, desolate wasteland. But there she was— _ Elain. _

A spot of light and warmth. No sound but the beating of her heart.

He would not let this woman drown. Not again.

He swam, pumping legs and wings and arms, like an arrow through the water. The shimmering white of the gown fell around her like a halo, golden hair trailing up as she kicked and thrashed to be free. But the weight and layers of the gown pulled her 

down,

down, 

down,

tangled in her legs. 

Azriel reached for her with hand and shadow. He’d never called them in water, had never had the need. But as light faded and his lungs began to burn—as he saw her inhale water—he willed himself into them...

And materialized in the icy blackness beneath her feet. With a mighty beat of his wings, he launched himself up. Grabbing Elain around the waist, he shot for the surface.

Brighter and brighter the world around him became—until he broke the surface, hauling Elain with him. He leaned back, pulling her onto his chest, legs and wings propelling them to shore. When his feet hit the shelf, he stood.

Every slice of wind on his body felt like a thousand needles made of ice. But he didn’t care as Elain started coughing, as he laid her out on the shore. This woman—Elain.

Her eyes were cloudy, her movements all too familiar, no reaction to the cold, to the forest.

“ _ Elain. _ ” Her eyes snapped to him, clear, haunted. She blinked as she coughed and vomited up more water. Then she was gasping and wheezing, pushing off the ground as if realizing where she was. She fisted a hand into his leathers, and Azriel pulled her into his lap.

“Elain, Elain, Elain,” he said. And he didn’t know why it felt different, didn’t know what exactly the feeling was. But it was as if his arms had been searching for her, for something shaped exactly like her to fill them—perfectly, she fit perfectly. And he knew he could never let her go. 

Elain hooked one arm around his neck, the other under his arm to latch onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shh.” Azriel smoothed her hair and pressed his chin atop her head. He needed to hold her, touch her. “You’re my friend. You’ve nothing to apologize for— _ nothing _ .”

They were both shaking, freezing. She said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why I came here. I’m scared—Azriel. I don’t know anymore, I don’t know, I don’t…”

“It’s okay. I know. I know what that’s like. I know.” And he did. He’d grown up in the darkness. Had learned to survive by embracing it, by identifying with it—he was shadowsinger,  _ not _ Illyrian.

He tightened his hold on her as an icy wind sliced across the lake. He needed to get them both someplace warm. “Let me help you,” he whispered. “Ask me to help you.” 

A tiny, cold hand tightened around the back of his neck. “Help me, Azriel. Please.” 

A black, icy wind swept them up as he winnowed them away. And he thought he might have felt a thread of warmth and life entwined among the shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

Azriel set Elain down on the tiled shower floor, but he didn’t let her go. He reached over and turned the faucet. Warm water rained down on them. They shivered together for a few moments until their bodies warmed. Slowly, he turned up the temperature.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, how long he might have listened to the beating of her heart through the sound of the falling water. Her head was pressed against his chest, and he wondered if she were listening to his heart, too. 

When they’d both stopped shivering, Elain lifted her head. “Where are we?”

Water dripped from his face and hair as he looked down at her. “My house.”

“Where is your house?”

“Just outside Velaris. In the cliffs by the sea.”

“Thank you.”

Azriel dipped his chin. “You should wash.” He pulled her arms from him and stepped out of the spray of water and into the bathroom.

“Wait.” They stood there for a silent moment. Elain looked unsure. “My dress,” she said. “Could you help me?” She turned her back to him revealing the long line of tiny, silk buttons that held it closed. She pulled her soaking hair out of the way.

Azriel stepped forward and began unfastening the dress. His hands were large and rough, the fabric delicate and thin. In any other situation, just looking at the soft, pale skin of her back, removing her dress, would have made him feel things. Would have made him remember that sometimes when they were alone, when their bodies got too close or their skin touched… her scent would change— _ his _ scent would change. And they’d look at one another with more feelings than they had words. But not now, not like this because how he’d found her…

Azriel shook the images from his mind. Elain was his friend, and she needed help. She would always be his friend and that would always come first.

He finished the last of the buttons and stepped away. The heavy dress pulled off her shoulders, beginning to slide down from it’s own weight.

And for a moment, he saw how it would go. He would push his fingers beneath the open back to slide around front and cup her small breasts. She would moan and lean back into him. He’d capture her mouth over her shoulder and push the dress off her hips. Then she’d be utterly bare before him. He’d massage her breasts, pressing his erection into her backside as he rolled her nipples between his fingers. He’d look down, over her shoulder, and see her in his hands, wanting and willing and lonely—so fucking lonely. Just like him.

“Tell me to stop,” he’d say, knowing how it would ruin everything. She’d shake her head.

With one hand she’d reach back to stroke him through his clothes, with the other she’d grab his wrist and slide his hand down her body, between her legs. He’d shudder against her as she stroked him, as she pressed one of his fingers inside her. He’d take over then, working her, feeling her. He’d release her breast long enough to open his pants—then he’d be inside her. He’d bend her against the tile, or over the vanity. It didn’t matter. She’d press her hips back for him, he’d grab them and push into her, taking her. They’d both moan and writhe as their bodies took what little, fleeting comfort they could from the joining. 

Then he’d come inside her. 

And then they would separate. 

And then reality would come crushing down on them. 

He’d still be mostly dressed, but she’d be bare, looking for something to cover herself with. For something with which to clean the mess of him from between her legs. He’d hand her a towel, clean himself off in the sink, then leave. 

They’d never be the same after that, would never recover from that. Both more lonely than when they’d started. 

So he wouldn’t start it. Never.

Azriel inhaled sharply and stepped away from Elain. He pulled the shower curtain and turned away. “I’ll go find you something to wear.”

“Thank you.”

Azriel walked out, closing the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

“Azriel?” Elain said into the darkness. Her breath was warm on his chest.

“Hmm?”

“You live alone.” It wasn’t a question, but he hummed a yes. “Sometimes I feel as if I live alone.”

She was lying on the floor beside him, tucked into his arm. He’d been ready to let her sleep on his bed, had made himself a place to sleep on the couch, but she’d refused. She’d said the couch would be too small for him and that she wouldn’t feel right taking his bed. He’d allowed it. But then he’d gotten to his barren room. The mattress low to the floor on a wooden frame he’d made all those years ago. He’d taken one look at it and had pulled the sheets, dragging them to the living room where he’d decided to sleep on the floor. 

He’d told himself it wasn’t because he hated sleeping alone, or because he thought Elain needed a friend, or because there was nowhere he’d rather be than next to her… 

They’d laid in silence, both staring at the ceiling. A ray of moonlight illuminated the place where Elain had laid. Her skin—the only thing glowing in the night-dark room. He’d watched her from the shadows, from the floor, from the corner of his eye.

So close, and so far.

He’d not known why, but he’d said, “When I first got to the Illyrian camps, I was a novelty, a rarity. I wasn’t Illyrian enough to be one of them, and as shadowsinger, I was too valuable to be wasted or left to fall into the hands of another court. Rhys’s mom took me in as a favor to my mother. Living with them, my brothers, wasn’t easy. For a long time, I expected them to treat me the way my father’s sons had. I expected their kindness to run out and end with me locked back in the darkness. I’d spent so long believing that I would live and die in my father’s house, that I’d become unable to see my life turning out any differently.” 

She’d taken an unsteady breath then.

“When I finally realized that my life would be different… I felt guilty. I didn’t think I deserved to have a real family, or to fly, or live by my own rules—free of the restrictions my previous life had imposed upon me. Sometimes it’s still hard. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I’m not that person anymore, that my life turned out differently.”

She’d reached down then and slipped her hand into his. He’d stilled, only able to stare at their joined hands, then up at her tear stained face. She’d closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply. 

He’d rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “You don’t have to pretend, Elain,” he’d said. “You’re my friend, we’re friends.”

A sob had worked it’s way out of her throat, and she’d crawled down to the floor and laid in the shadows next to Azriel.

At first, he hadn’t known what to do. But then he’d felt the wet of her tears on his skin and had just responded, wrapping an arm around her and tucking her in close. 

They hadn’t moved since. 

Azriel squeezed Elain’s hand, clasped in his over his chest. “For a very long time, I felt as if I lived alone, too.” Part of her shoulder brushed his wing as she shifted, but he didn’t mind. Friend, she was his friend, and he love her.

“This sounds so stupid.” There were tears in her voice. “But when I was eleven, my father took me to see a garden in the city. It was big and fancy, and we had to pay a fee just to see it. We spent the whole day together, and I remember every second. And every year after that, on the same day, I rememberer. And t-today…”

“Today was that day wasn’t it?”

Elain nodded into his shoulder. “And it’s n-not about Graysen,” she said. “I don’t care about him—haven’t thought about him in months and months. But today, when I remembered… all I could think about was how m-my father was dead, and how we’d never get to go to that garden again. And how if things had been different, if I’d still married Graysen, if the war never happened, he’d still be alive. And all day I thought about him. And no one cared because no one knew. I felt invisible and stupid and sentimental.” She wiped her face. “But then Feyre and Rhys left the house, and they’re married, and Feyre never cared for such things, but all I could think was that m-my father would n-never give me away when I married.”

Azriel knew then why he’d brought her to his house and not back to the townhouse. What he’d seen in her eyes and in the movement of her body these past few weeks, what he’d heard in the space between her words and breaths… 

“You’re father loved you, Elain.” His voice was a whisper of darkness, but it was unyielding, sturdy. “He loved you so much he raised an army to save you.”

“And he did,” she sobbed.

Azriel nodded. “That he did.”

They lay there in the darkness for hours. Listening to the owls and the night waking creatures in the hillside. To the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. And sometimes Elain talked, and sometimes he did. And sometimes Elain cried, and sometime she was silent. 

Azriel held her.  _ They  _ held each other.

Just before they drifted off to sleep, she said, “I think I’m scared of what happens if I move on. Where do I put him, where is his place in my life when he is no longer here?”

“I don’t think the ones we’ve lost ever leave us. Not really. I think we carry them with us, always.”

Elain squeezed his hand and pulled it to her lips, whispering, “Thank you. For listening to me, for seeing me.” She pressed a kiss to the back of his scarred hand just below his siphon. Her lips were soft, full. Her breath warm in the cooling darkness.

He wasn’t sure anyone had ever been that gentle with him.

And no one noticed the blush that bloomed across his cheeks as Elain nestled back into the crook of his arm and fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Elain Archeron walked the worn path through the tall grass to the back of the property. The day was unseasonably warm, and the wind was blowing in off the ocean making her hair sticky with sea salt. She didn’t mind, just wended through a small copse of trees and found the shed on the other side. She looked through the cracks in the driftwood door.

Azriel sat inside hunched over a potter’s wheel, working. His foot tap, tap, tapping the pedal to keep the plate spinning.

She’d been staying with him for the past three weeks, and hadn’t once worked up the nerve to walk back to the secluded shed he disappeared to each day.

But something about today was different. She felt lighter, happier. More adventurous.

Her sadness wasn’t gone, but it was further somehow. Not so present, so close. She’d always miss her father, always think about what might have been, but she realized that moving on was not a betrayal of him or the life she’d wanted. Moving on was a gift.

And she wanted to move on. Wanted to find her place.

She’d spent the day working the small garden on the side of his house, getting it ready for the coming winter. She’d been in the middle of the pumpkin patch, checking for rot and rabbits, when it’d occurred to her that the clay pots all around the garden were familiar. They were the same ones that had shown up in the townhouse garden shortly after she’d come to Velaris.

In the back of the small vegetable garden, she’d stared at a stack of sea-green pots. Some were lopsided, some cracked, and on some the glaze had been applied too thick or too thin. They were beautiful in their imperfections.

She stared at Azriel’s back. The muscles of his shoulders bent and flexed as he worked to shape the pot between his scarred hands. His wings were tucked in tight and up off the dirty wood floor.

A smile ghosted across Elain’s lips. 

On tiptoes, she made her way back to the house, quiet as a doe in spring. She returned to the back of the vegetable garden and hauled a few of the sea-green pots to the side of the house. She filled them with dirt, then went about planting winter blooming flowers in each. When she was done, she quietly arranged them on the front porch of the house. 

 

~

 

Elain knelt on a sunny patch of grass in the garden digging up lily bulbs. The flowers had bloomed all summer and then disappeared as soon as fall had set in. And while the days were still somewhat warm, the evenings were getting colder and colder. She needed to dig up the bulbs and store them before the ground froze.

She carefully dug into the dirt and had a thought.

Reaching out with her mind, she found Azriel. He was working in the shed at the back of the property. His was bent over the potter’s wheel, streaked in clay up to his elbows. She pushed her mind, deliberately looking into the room. The shadows in the corners and beneath his feet began to jump and swirl, and she knew he could sense her. He sat up, stopping his work, a smile turning the corner of his mouth.

Elain pulled back from the intrusion. A moment later, Azriel appeared through the trees, heading down the small worn path to her.

She took a deep breath, shielded her eyes from the sun and looked at him. “I was hoping you might help me, but not if you’re busy.”

“I’m not.” He wiped his hands on his pants.

Elain smiled and pat the grass next to her. He sat down. “I’ve already moved most of the dirt, now I’m just pulling the bulbs. There are a lot in this patch, and I don’t want to miss any.”

“Tell me what to do.”

She leaned over him slightly, their knees touching, and she showed him how she brushed at the dirt to reveal the pale peach colored bulb beneath. “We want to be careful not to damage the basal plate.” Scooping a bulb, she gently brushed it off and turned it upside down. She sat back on her heels. “That’s the basal plate. If we’re careful not to damage it, we can cut the bulbs just right to make more.” 

Azriel leaned in, blowing at some of the dirt. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

His fingers brushed hers as he tilted the bulb to her. “Those.”

“The roots?” she giggled. Their faces were close.

“ _ Ah. _ ” He glanced at her, then gently pushed the roots around with the pad of a finger. “They’re not part of the bulb?”

“The plate?” Elain breathed.

Azriel nodded. “That’s right. The plate.” He pulled his hand away, glancing at the sky. Elain swallowed hard and placed the bulb gently in the bucket behind them.

They got to work, moving slowly through the rows at first, then faster. Elain cleared her end of the flowerbed then moved to work across from Azriel. As she leaned forward on her hands and knees, the front of the loose fitting dress she wore pulled away from her skin.

She gathered the next bulb and paused. “This one is so small.” She held it up for him to see—and his eyes went right to the gap between her neck and dress, to the lily-white skin revealed beneath. She watched as his eyes widened then narrowed to focus too hard on the bulb in her hand. He only nodded before looking away, and she sat back quickly.

They stopped when the sun began to set, and carried the bucket of bulbs inside. Then they went to the kitchen to wash up.

Elain walked to the sink, pulling her braid to the side to cool her neck and back. Azriel came up beside her and turned on the water. They wet their hands and shared the bar of soap. Elain leaned in over the large sink, up on her tiptoes, trying to an elbow under the faucet.

Without a word, Azriel cupped some water in his hands and poured it over her arms, smoothing his palms over her skin to rinse the suds. He stood behind her. 

“Thank you.” Her voice was barely a whisper, as he gently held one of her arms in a hand, then poured water over it with his other. He bent over her, encasing her. His breath was hot in her ear, his chest heavy with breath as he ran his hands over her skin—up and down, and up and down. Gentle. He was so gentle. She found herself leaning into him, laying her head against his shoulder, pressing her shoulders to his chest, her back to his stomach, her rear to his—

Azriel’s waist pinched backward, and he doubled over, bracing himself with white knuckled hands on the counter.

She turned to face him. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s my fault.” He pushed his hair back with a wet hand, then moved away to adjust his pants before standing straight. “I’m...uh...going to wash up before dinner.” He left.

And Elain was reminded as one season came to an end, another was just beginning.  


	6. Chapter 6

It was as clear as if it had already happened. As clear as if she’d been there. But it hadn’t happened and Elain would not be there when it did.

Azriel stood naked under a stream of hot water, face buried in his forearm, breath heavy. The muscles of his back and buttocks flexed and clenched with each hurried stroke of his scarred hand. His  _ beautiful _ scarred hand. There was something desperate about the look on his face, in the curve of his shoulders. Perhaps something haunted, too. 

He bit into his lower lip, eyes wrinkled shut, body curled forward. 

“ _ Elain— _ ” He came with a groan and a jerk of his hips and then it was over. He washed the mess away, ran a hand over his jaw. Water dripped everywhere. For a moment, it was hard to see his face, nearly hidden by steam from the water. But she saw it as he pulled the curtain and stepped out—shame. He was ashamed.

Ashamed of himself for what he’d just done. For thinking of her. For saying her name. 

He wrapped a towel around his waist and braced himself over the sink. His head hung low. Shadows swirled—over his skin, caressing his neck. He ignored them. Too ashamed to accept any comfort. Too disgusted with himself. He stared down at his hands.

The vision ended and Elain blinked. She sat in the garden. The air was cold but the waning day was sunny, bright. 

Azriel had gone into the city for a meeting. She’d chosen to stay behind. It’d been a few weeks since their encounter in the kitchen. Since she’d come onto him and he’d run away. But she told herself it was fine. 

Because it was.

After dinner that night, he’d acted as if nothing had changed between them. And maybe that was because nothing truly had. They’d gone to sleep in the living room atop the makeshift bed they’d built when she’d first come to stay. She couldn’t remember how long ago that had been, but she remembered being sad. Remembered when she’d let Az take that sadness away. And she remembered when she’d decided that there was nothing wrong with wanting to move on with her life.

Even if it wasn’t the life she’d originally planned for.

Heavy footsteps crunched what was left of the fall leaves. “I’m back,” Az said from across the garden. “I just wanted you to know I was back.”

Elain smiled, shielding her eyes from the sun as it just began to set. “Welcome home.”

A ghost of a smile brushed his lips, he hid it fast. He looked down at his feet, then hers. He blinked. “You’re wearing trousers.”

Indeed she was. A pair of old loose fitted trousers of Azriel’s she’d taken in and hemmed to fit her. She raised an eyebrow. “Such insights, spymaster. I see now why the High Lord and Lady keep you around.”

Az smiled, showing teeth and folding his arms across his chest. He wore a pair of dark trousers and a loose fitting cream shirt. The long sleeves were rolled almost to his elbows and the few buttons at the collar had been left open. The cobalt of his siphons simmered like icy flames in the waning daylight. 

He glanced at his shadow—so long it stretched across the space between them, practically touching Elain. “You should never offend a shadowsinger.”

“ _ Oh? _ And why is that?”

“Because.” He took a step forward, his shadow just grazing the tops of her knees where she knelt. “Dark things happen.”

Az vanished just as his shadow swirled and darkened. It spread across the garden in the form of a winged warrior then it morphed into a bird and flickered across the pumpkins and the dirt. She spun around to follow it. It flew into her own shadow and grew until it looked as if she had wings—great, powerful illyrian wings. They beat in time with a cold wind that blew in from the ocean. They slipped over her shadow’s shoulders like a flowing cape, then slipped down—becoming a ballgown—then further...

Until they became a field of sunflowers bobbing in the breeze all around her shadow.

Elain smiled. And moved to make it appear as if she were actually among the field. Tiny butterflies and birds of shadow moved through the scene. She threw her arms up and spun to make her shadow dance through the image.

When she opened her eyes it was gone.

“Azriel, you’re an artist.” She looked around. “Az? Where are you?” She stared hard at her shadow. “I know you’re in there. Come out.”

He did not.

“Fine.” She turned on a heel and began walking toward the house. A step outside the garden’s gate she spun around fast, expecting to catch him—

Only to be disappointed when all she saw was her own, ordinary shadow. She could have sworn she heard a deep chuckle.

“I’m going inside and I’m going to make myself dinner and leave none for you.” She turned again, putting on a show of marching toward the house. Once in the backyard, she locked up the tools in a small shed and moved to walk around front.

She was rounding the sunny back corner when a dark figure appeared in her periphery. Too close. Too big. Too much like that one time they’d come for her. Fear flooded her senses and she leapt back. A terrified scream on her lips—

Only to realize that it was Azriel’s damn shadow that had jumped out at her. 

He stepped out of the darkness and— _ and he was laughing _ . Not his usual dark chuckling, but open, gasping laughter.

“It’s not funny,” she yelled, relief cooling the hot, sticky sweat on her back. “You scared me half to death.”

“You should’ve seen the look—”

“ _ It’s not funny, Azriel. _ ”

He stopped at the tone of her voice, the look on her face. She fought to keep the tears from her eyes. He reached out, “Elain—”

“Don’t.”

“Elain, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“It’s fine.” She swatted his hand away and stormed around the house. 

Only to run face first into him when he appeared in front of her.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, keeping her against him. “I’m sorry I scared you.” His voice was low, warm. 

One of his thumbs flinched—as if aching to move across her skin.

She inhaled sharply. Suddenly aware of all the space that wasn’t between them. She wasn’t sure how, but she was pretty sure he was aware as well. But… 

Neither moved.

“It’s all right. It just—I just thought…” That renegade thumb began to rub small circles on her shoulder. His hands were large, warm where they held her. It was just cold enough that their breath began to fog. 

She traced the lines of his tattoos through the opening in his shirt with her eyes.

“Tell me.”

She swallowed hard, and brought her hands up, weaving them in the fabric on the sides of his shirt. He breathed in very, very slowly and deeply. “The night they came for Nesta and me. She woke me up with a hand over my mouth. I’d never been so scared. It was the look on her face.” She shook her head. “Nesta never gets scared, never fears. At least not that she shows. She didn’t speak, just pointed to the window. We were halfway across the room when the soldiers came in. They were quiet. As if they were worried about waking us—it was strange. I remember thinking it was strange.” She tightened her hold on his shirt. “They looked like giants in the darkness. Huge figures moving toward us. I’d never seen males so big—except you and Cassian. So I knew, we knew, who— _ what _ —they were. And...and I knew we were going to die, that I was going to die.” 

Azriel rubbed her shoulders. “That must have been very hard.”

She looked up at him, willing every ounce of pity she could into her face. She said, “It was awful,” and reached for his arm, stepping to the side—and then bent as she swept his feet out from under him. He slammed into the ground, flat on his back.

Elain stood over him, hands on her hips. “ _ That _ was for scaring me.”

Azriel smiled. “I’m going to kill Cassian for teaching you that.”

“Then you’ll have killed an innocent male.”

“Who?”

She leaned over. “The fearsome shadowsinger asking the seer for information. Oh how the mighty have f—” She slammed into the ground with a curse.

Azriel braced his hands on either side of her head and leaned in. “You were saying?”

“Feyre didn’t teach me how to avoid that move.” Azriel only smiled. “So now that you have me at your mercy, what are you going to do with me oh mighty shadowsinger?” she dared.

As quickly as she’d fallen, the air between them went taut. Every fiber of her being waited for what he would say next, what he might do. 

He stared at her.

She stared at him.

With a finger, she hooked the loose hem on his shirt. Twirled it. Up, up, up—she grazed the golden brown skin of his stomach. 

Azriel hissed in a breath, eyes going a bit heavy in the lid.

She placed her entire hand on his stomach and smoothed it around to lay on his back. 

Azriel needed no push. His mouth was on hers in a second. His lips large and skilled as he fit them between hers. His tongue darted out and that was all she needed.

Elain wrapped a leg around his waist and rolled him onto his back. Their lips never once lost contact. Her hands roved under his shirt, over the muscles of his chest to his shoulders. He pulled her shirt untucked, slipped a large, hot hand across the small of her back, fisting the other in her hair. He angled her mouth where he wanted it, where he needed it to give her strong thorough kisses. 

She didn’t mind at all.

He tasted like summer sun, like the warmth of a whisper, like too-sweet blackberries.

She ground her hips into him and moaned when she found him swollen and hard. She reached between them, stroking him with a hand through his trousers. “I want this,” she said. He groaned. “I’ve wanted this for a very long time.” 

He rolled them over—and ground the length of him between her legs. She thought she might lose consciousness from the feel of him. From the deep, powerful strokes promised by the strong muscles of his waist, hips and thighs.

She grabbed his rear beneath his trousers.  _ Gods he was well muscled _ . And she wanted to feel those powerful strokes with her hands as he drove into her.

She let go of his backside and pulled her shirt off. “Touch me.” His lips found hers the same moment his hands found her breasts. And Azriel didn’t bother to touch them above the fabric of her undergarments. He pulled the straps down, and put his hands on her bare breasts. An action so sudden and unexpected she arched into his touch, a whimper escaping her throat.

He rolled her nipples hard between his thumbs and fingers. No one had ever done that to her before. She was not a virgin. She’d let Graysen atop her, inside her, twice. But each time had been short, and he’d insisted that she keep her dress on. He’d allowed her to touch him, suck him, but he’d only ever sunk his fingers to test her readiness before he sunk his cock. She’d asked him why he did not want to see her naked, or taste her below the mouth and he’d said it would be improper for her to let him touch her like that, and he’d wait for their wedding night when it would not stain her reputation. She’d agreed.

And used to hate herself for it… 

But as Azriel’s skilled hands rubbed and rolled and pulled her swollen nipples almost to the point of pain, she was glad. She doubted Graysen would ever have touched her with this kind of skill. And Elain wanted more—wanted everything. 

She unhooked Azriel’s belt. He lifted his hips for her and she pulled the trousers open, the generous length of him springing free into her waiting hand. 

Azriel pumped into it. Once, twice—

He buried his face in her neck. “Tell me to stop.”

“I want this,” she whispered. Still he pumped his hips. The smooth length of him, like velvet in her hand. 

He growled in frustration then slipped his hand beneath her trousers and right into her. Her hips bucked off the ground at the sudden, very pleasing, intrusion. She moaned. His fingers were thick. He only worked one inside her and she felt full. But maybe it was his scars.

“Ask me to stop, please.” She shook her head, kissing him again. She moved her hand to slide along the one he had inside her, to feel where they were connected. “Say stop,” he  _ begged _ . 

“Stop.”

Everything stopped. She froze. Azriel panted—panted like he’d been frightened, scared.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Az?”

He pushed off her, stuffing himself back into his trousers and standing. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t even look at her. Just stooped to pick up her shirt and hand it to her. Then he was walking away. 

Elain wasn’t sure how long she laid there, clutching her shirt to her bare breasts. But when she finally moved it was long past dark. Her skin was cold, numb.

He hadn’t come back out.

And he wasn’t in the house when she entered.

He wasn’t there when she got out of the shower.

And he wasn’t there the next morning when she woke up alone in the makeshift bed they’d built in their living room— _ his _ living room.


	7. Chapter 7

Azriel sat in the shadows high above Velaris, on a cliff overlooking the sea. He was miles away from his house. From the house he’d been sharing with Elain. He couldn’t figure out how to go back. Didn’t know if he could.

A freezing wind cut in hard and brutal off the ocean. He rubbed his hands together—his  _ scarred _ hands.

He took a deep breath.

The mottled skin was rippled and pocked like a sea sponge. It was disgusting. He told himself it was disgusting. That he was disgusting. He should’ve never put his dirty hands on her— _ in _ her.  _ Fuck. _

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

Why had he ever brought her to his house? Why hadn’t he just brought her back to the townhouse after he’d saved her from drowning? 

_ Because you couldn’t stay away _ , he thought.

He wasn’t good for her. The kinds of things he needed… from a female… 

Azriel slammed his fist hard into the stone cliff atop which he sat. It hurt, but that was the point. That was the point of all of it wasn’t it? He liked to hurt, like to do the hurting.

He cursed again.

Before he was shadowsinger, he was Illyrian. A stupid, flightless Illyrian who’d never spread his wings farther than the cage he was kept in would allow. A measly seven feet. Not even enough room to fully spread one wing. 

And he’d been weak, tortured for years. 

He’d been beaten, bruised, burned. His wings had been broken twice, his fingers numerous times, his knees, his skull… His jaw would never open all the way again. He was a mess. A fucking mess.

He’d known nothing of kindness, of love. Had spent so many years in the darkness that when the shadows came, he’d embraced them. He’d  _ let  _ them in. And now, even years after he’d been free from that hell, years after he’d become more than Illyrian, more than an embarrassment kept in a dungeon cage...that darkness never left him. It was always there. 

It was him.

And how could he ever put that on Elain? Ever let her see that?

She was sunshine and light and happiness. He was a stain.

And even if he did show her, and even if she did not flee from his darkness...how could he hurt her? How could he expect her to be hurt by him? 

Because it wasn’t just scars his half brother’s had left. Scars would be okay. Scars he could hide or wear. But  _ this. _ What he needed…  

He shook his head.

What he needed was control. And to be hurt. And to do the hurting. What he needed was to find a way to tell Elain— _ show _ —Elain so that she’d be scared. So that she’d never want another thing to do with him ever again.


	8. Chapter 8

Three nights later, Azriel stood in the foyer of his house. Elain was standing in the living room. A thunderstorm raged outside. Water dripped from his hair and wings to puddle on the floor.

Elain crossed her arms. All the lights were off, she wore only a thin nightgown. She must have been asleep. “I was wondering when you’d show your face.”

 _Good_ , he thought. He wanted her mad, wanted her pissed. It would make all of this easier.

“I’m not beholden to you,” he said. “You are I are not lovers.”

Her eyes flickered over him, calculating his braced feet, his wide shoulders, the arms he held rigid at his sides, and his wings—slightly flared to make him appear bigger, more threatening. He’d let his fangs show, too.

She gave him a look of utter dismissal—that would’ve made Nesta proud—and turned away from him. “Your share of dinner is in the oven. Where it’s been for the last few nights. Might still be warm if you’re lucky.” Then she walked away.

Good. Fine.

Thunder cracked, lightning flared. He melted into shadow and appeared before her. “You need to leave.”

She didn’t flinch. Just narrowed her eyes. “Why? Because you don’t want to fuck me?”

 _That_ had not been what he’d expected. But he didn’t let it sink in. “Oh, no. That’s the problem.” He took a step toward her, clearly in her space, clearly trying to cow her. And…

And if he didn’t know any better, he’d say she knew exactly what he was doing. “I do want to fuck you, Elain. Brutally. And without mercy.” He leaned forward until his fangs were inches from her face. “I want to wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze. I want to hit your bare backside until there are tears in your eyes. And I want to fuck you raw while you beg me to stop. I want you to agree, to consent, to hate it, to fight me, to run from me.” He scraped his fangs lightly down her neck and said. “I want to hurt you, Elain. In every way you’ve never imagined.”

She tilted her head, giving him more access. “Bite me.”

Lightning flashed. Azriel froze.

“I’ll scream for you,” she said. “I’ll run from you, I’ll fight you, I’ll pretend it’s not consensual.” She took a step toward him. He hadn’t realized he’d moved away. “I’ll do whatever you want. So long as you let me stay— _here_ ,” she placed a hand over his heart, “with you. In our home.”

He jerked back, slamming into the fireplace mantle.

She advanced. “Isn’t this what you want? To for me to agree to let you hurt me? To enjoy it when you do?” She grabbed his belt buckle.

He pulled her hands away. “ _Stop._ ” He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. And the smell coming off of her.

She wanted this. Wanted _him_.

“If you want me to hurt you, Azriel… just ask. We can choose a safety word. Something easy that we’ll bo—”

“STOP.”

His chest was tight, breathing heavy, erratic. What was happening? This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to leave, to run scared. She wasn’t supposed to stay. _Why did she want to stay?_

“Azriel?” Her voice a whisper of calm through the raging storm. Thunder cracked, boomed above them. “You once asked me to let you help me.” The tips of her fingers grazed the rolling edges of the scars on his hand. He flinched. “Right now I’m asking you to let me do the same.”

“You don’t want to help me,” he whispered, the shadows whirling around him. “You can’t help me. The things I need.” He shook his head, licked his lips, tried to catch his damn breath. “I want to hurt you. I want you to hurt me.”

She grabbed his hand. “I don’t believe you.”

He vanished into shadow—

And reappeared a second later only to realize he’d taken Elain with him. And, _no_ —he hadn’t taken her with him. She’d...she’d done it herself. She’d followed him.

Into the darkness, Elain had followed him.

She dropped his hand. “How?” he said.

“For a while now. Since just after the Cauldron.” She shrugged. “I knew I could that day you gave me Truth-teller, I saw it and knew I’d use the shadows to find the king and kill him before he killed my sister.”

“But you…” He shook his head. “You don’t belong in the shadows. You’re not…”

“I’m not what? Shadowsinger? I’m not human, not High Fae—not really. I’m just me and you’re…” She bit her lip. “That day you saved me from drowning you asked me to let you help me.” She cupped his face. He did not flinch away, only closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her smooth skin on his. “Now I’m asking you the same thing. Let me help you?”

Thick droplets of rain were a steady drone against the roof and windows. It puddled in the garden beyond, hitting and bouncing off trees and leaves and vegetables, pooling in used and empty pots.

“Why?” he breathed.

“Because you are not unworthy, Azriel.” He opened his eyes and her other hand found his cheek. “You are not unseen. I see you.”

Something in him was breaking. He wanted to look away to run, but he was rooted to the spot, to her eyes.

She said, “You are not a child still locked away in his father’s house. You are not scared and frightened and unworthy of love. And you are not Illyrian as you are not just shadowsinger. You are not just the High Lord and Lady’s Spymaster, their torturer or their shadow. You are not just the keeper of their secrets, nor are you the keeper of your own. You are not just brutal and scarred and fearsome to behold. Not just silent and strong and always waiting and watching and seeing the things others miss. You are not just the darkness and you are not alone. Those things are all a part of you, but they do not define you.”

Tears ran down his face. She wiped them with her thumbs.

“You are Azriel. You are my friend. And you are kind and gentle and selfless. Your loyalty to your family and friends is a magic all it’s own. The way you care for them and your people is a strength too few will ever be capable of in their own lives. You are a treasure, a gift, and you are worthy of love and of a place to call home. A person to call home.” Elain’s face glistened as another flash of lightning illuminated their small house. “When you pulled me from the lake, when you saved me, the first thing you declared was not of love or that I was your mate...it was that I was your friend. _Your friend._ ” The memory of the day she’d spilled from the Cauldron flickered across both their minds. “You chose me as I chose you. Because we get to choose, Azriel. _We_ get to choose. Not the past, or the present, or the future, nor the many versions of ourselves that we hide and perform when the moment calls for it. And not the Cauldron.”

He shook as she brushed back his tears. As he lifted his hands to wipe hers, cupping her delicate face gently, lovingly.

“We— _us_ —we get to choose the ones we love.”

He shook his head.

She held it still.

“Look at me, Azriel.” He did. “I choose you. I’ll have you and no other for all my years of eternity.” A sob broke from him. From them both. “I choose you to be my friend, to be my family”—she kissed him—“my protector”—kissed him again—“to be the one who wipes my tears and makes me laugh”—another kiss—“to be the one who tells me when I’m being ridiculous and when I need to apologize. To love me in all my darkness and in all my light.”

He didn’t know when she’d climbed up him, when she’d wrapped her legs around his waist and lost her fingers in his hair, her forehead pressed to his. All he knew was his hands were around her, holding her to him and—

 _I could die from this_ , he thought. _From loving her._

“To be my mate, Azriel. I choose you to be my mate.”

“Why?” Why would anyone choose him? How could anyone look at him and not see the scarred, broken, disgusting thing he was? How could anyone as bright and sunny and beautiful as Elain see more—see him?

“You’re the only one who sees me, Azriel. And I see you. In all your darkness and shadow and I am not afraid. You are beautiful.”

He kissed her then, finding the soft of her lips and pressing his against them. She pulled him closer and opened for him, angling her head to let him in deeply, thoroughly.

“Please,” was her only aching word. A whispered plea to let her in, for him to take her up on her offer and allow himself in. Her tongue swept beneath his upper lip, her teeth grazed then bit his bottom one.

“I’m—it’s been a while,” he began. But as he spoke he walked to the mess of blankets they’d been sleeping on in the livingroom. And laid her down beneath him. “I haven’t been with a female—”

She reached up and kissed him. “I’ve only ever been with one. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Then he lost himself in her. They lost themselves in one another.

Elain shimmied out of her nightgown—chest bare beneath—then quickly helped Azriel remove his shirt and trousers. She guided a scarred hand to one of her breasts. He hated the way it looked on her. Even in the darkness he could see the mottled skin juxtaposed against her smooth, perfect flesh. He hesitated.

“Look at me.” He did. “I want you. I’ll have you with your scars and your damaged pieces or I won’t have you at all.”

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. Who was this female and whatever had he done to deserve her?

He palmed her breast, they both moaned. He kissed down her neck as his fingers teased and pulled at her nipple, his name escaping her lips like smoke from a candle newly blown out. His lips found the gentle curve of her breasts and he trailed over them lightly, kissing and nipping all the way, until the hard of her nipple pressed against them. She arched, trying to get it in his mouth. He smiled into the darkness. Licked once, twice—blew to cool the wetted skin.

Elain dug her nails into his back. “Don’t tease me.”

So he didn’t. He bit down gently on that hardened, soft nipple and slipped his free hand between her legs. She jolted, surprise in her eyes. The scent of her intoxicating. “Too much?”

She bit her bottom lip, writhing slightly against the hand between her legs. “No—gods, no. Not enough.”

Slipping his hand beneath her undergarments, he stroked and touched her where no one ever had while simultaneously biting her other nipple, _hard_. She curse. Confusion and pleasure warring in her eyes. Confusion at how something could be so painful...and yet feel so good. Her breath was fast and shallow, coming in short pants as her heart raced in her chest.

He slowed. Kissed and sucked—no teeth. He leaned back, finger still inside her. “Elain, is this your first time?”

“Yes. Graysen never...touched me like this, saw me like this.”

He knew it made him an ass to feel a sense of pride at those words, but he failed to care. He only watched the rapid rise and fall of her breast, the sweat beginning to coat her skin, the dilating of her eyes from the things he was doing to her. And the scent coming off her—he drank it in like whiskey, tasting and inhaling every last drop until he was lightheaded and giddy like some back alley drunk in the slums.

“He never fucked you like this,” he sunk that finger to knuckle, “did he?” She gasped and writhed, growing wetter and wetter with each stroke of him inside her. He added a second finger, her lips parted in a silent moan and he crushed his mouth to hers. She bit and sucked and pulled on his lips and tongue with her own, inhaling his exhale as he did the same to her own.

“Take them off,” she pleaded. He knew what she meant.

Azriel pulled back to survey her, removing his hands. She whimpered at the lost contact, eyes heavy and wanting, but her hands found her undergarments and she raised her hips, sliding them down the length of her legs. For him. He felt her eyes on him as he took in all of her. His eyes dragging down the length of her slowly. Lower and lower and lower—

Calloused hands pulled her knees wide. She swallowed hard, hands gripping the bedding beneath as he looked his fill. She was aching for him to touch to—

“He never fucked you with his mouth did he?” She began to quake, eyes closing as if steeling her strength her anticipation for what they both knew would come next. She shook her head.

Az smiled.

Then bowed before her.

Between her legs.

He paused.

For only a moment.

Letting her feel the heat of his breath on her skin.

Then he kissed her.

The sound she made was his undoing. He slid his hands over her thighs, then spread her flesh to kiss her in places no one ever had.

Elain was on fire. She was going to explode. Combust. He obliterated her with his kiss, his mouth, the way he sucked and nipped and worked the flesh of her. She was lost to it. Gone. Had no sense of what or who she was. All she knew was that Azriel— _Azriel_ —was between her legs. Worshiping her. With his mouth. Oh gods his mouth. And his fingers.   

Dizzy.

She was dizzy.

The world was too big and too small. Too hot and too cold. Too much and too little. Everything. She felt everything. She was only feeling. Only this moment, this second. She was dying. She was going to die. The way he touched her kissed her stroked her worked her—

Not enough air.

The world came apart in a brilliant smattering of colors and quakes and sounds.

It lasted forever and not long at all. It left her boneless and shaking and panting and...shaking.

She had no idea how much time had elapsed, but when she came down from the high of it all, Azriel was there. His arms around her, lips gentle on hers. Body sweat-slicked and hard as it pressed against her own. Oh and press it did. The fabric of his undershorts too thin to hide his wanting. It rocked lazily against the apex of her thighs.

And just like that she was ready again.

She lifted a leg over his waist and turned more fully to him, pressing her breasts to his bare chest, she rocked against his length. He groaned into her mouth.

“Elain, we don’t have to.”

She could taste herself on his lips. “I need you,” she breathed into his mouth. Reaching between them, she freed the length of him, shadows helping to pull his undershorts the rest of the way down. He was thick and hard where she gripped him, rocking him against the flesh between her legs.

He watched in awe as she used the tip of him to play with herself. “You’re beautiful when you come,” he said, finding her mouth. She gripped him harder, sliding him to the place they both wanted him to be. “The sounds you make, the faces.” He groaned when she bit his bottom lip and bucked his hips to taste the first bit of himself inside her. “The way you felt around me, my fingers, like you never wanted to let go.”

“I don’t ever want to let you go,” she breathed into his mouth. “Never.” He growled. Then groaned when she released his length to slip her arms around his neck, and pull him on top of her. “I need you.”

He braced himself around her, smoothing a calloused hand up and down the length of one of her thighs. Her hand slipped beneath them and she lined them up.

He leaned forward. They both groaned then they felt her wetness yield to the width of him. He gave them an inch—the press, the thickness, the stretch— _exquisite_. He rocked toward her, then pulled back. Then toward her—a little deeper—then back.

Back and forth and back and forth he moved, each time taking more of her, giving more to her.

But he was—larger than a human man, and she stilled, body rigid, breathing heavy for the wrong reasons.

Azriel scented it, the fear, the pain. He stilled. Kissed her.

Kissed her again.

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

She shook her head. “Don’t stop.” Despite the pain, she bucked her hips, wincing.

He kissed her again, then reached between them, finding that swollen bundle of nerves and rolling gentle circles in it. Her eyes grew heavy again, breathing changing from pained to pleasured. The slip of him inside her eased as her body warmed and wetted around him. He chuckled into their next kiss. “That’s it.”

He pulled back and slipped in, a little further than before. Elain moaned. Any pain gone, or too mixed with pleasure to register correctly.

He pulled back. And slipped in deeper. They both moaned at the pressure. At the lack of anything between them. Just skin—and at the thought he pulled back and buried himself to hilt.

She gasped and hooked her heels on his hips. He removed his hand from between her legs to cage her face with them. They stared at one another. Unmoving. Just breathing.

He was inside her. She was around him, holding him, every part of him in her care. Entrusted to her. And she did not shy away or run scared. She merely ran her hands through his hair. And kissed him softly. Her eyes never once leaving his.

“I think I love you,” he whispered.

She tightened around him. Smiled. “Yes,” she said, kissing him. “Yes, I think I love you.” He smiled into her, pressing his hips into hers, feeling the press of their flesh around where they were connected. She fit around him perfectly—tight and aching and drenched. Gods he loved this feeling, loved her. He circled his hips still pressed against hers as close as they could be. “Az,” she moaned. “More, I need more.”

He gave her a brutal kiss then rolled his hips, rocking them together, finding their rhythm amid the sounds and needs of their bodies. This was a claiming, he decided. This was what claiming a female looked and felt like. What it looked and felt like to be claimed as a male. The sound, the smell— _Oh, fuck_ —the feeling. All of it.

“More,” she moaned. “Deeper.”

He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder and ground into her. The look on her face told him Graysen had never taken her like this. And he growled with no lack of satisfaction at the thought. He growled again when she slipped a hand between her legs to stroke herself. She wanted to come like this. With him inside her. From the things he was doing to her.

He sped up the pace. Could feel the edge approaching. Elain fisted a hand in his hair, kissing with teeth and tongue and sucking—gods he loved this female. Loved the way her body tightened around his cock, pulled him in, wetted for him. The sounds she made, the faces—all of it—for him and him alone.

“Come for me, Elain,” he said with a bite to her lip, nearing his own edge. He pinned her hands above her head and sat back slightly, deepening the stroke of his cock inside her. She licked her lips, eyes lust addled. He took her in, all of her in. He threaded their fingers together, still pressed to the floor above her head, and ground his hips to press against the nerves between her legs. “ _Come for me right now._ ”

She did.

Moaning and gasping and writhing and clenching so tightly around his cock that he barrelled into his own release—thrusting and plunging and delving into her to mark her as his own, so that he could be marked as her own, as he spilled himself deep inside her.

When it was over, she was wet and hot and aching around the length of him. He was still inside her, still atop her, both unable to move, to care. Just basking in the glow of it. In gentle, loving kisses. In exhaustion. In a sweaty, lazy embrace. In the shadow and sunlight that surrounded them.

And somewhere in the darkness he felt that smile bloom across his face and thought that maybe she hadn’t been the one saved that day he pulled her from the lake. Maybe she’d saved him.

 

The End.


End file.
